


A Remarkable Request

by lamusetragique (kitnkabootle)



Category: Gunsmoke
Genre: F/F, Female Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:05:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitnkabootle/pseuds/lamusetragique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A distinguished and wealthy woman, new to Dodge City, finds herself hopelessly smitten with Miss Kitty Russell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Remarkable Request

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gloriously](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Gloriously).



I spend much too long selecting the dress I will wear. It is a pretty shade of blue with gently puffed shoulders and lace detail along the arms and collar. I wonder if she'll think I look dressed for Church, as Church is the only thing worth dressing for in Dodge City. I think back to the long trip across the country and about the coaches and trains. I cursed my husband for bringing me all the way out here to what I considered the furthest reaches of Hell. The dirt, the dust and the foulness of it all seemed uncivilized and appalling. I never dreamed that I would meet someone like her out here.

  
\---

We first met at the general store where I had been drearily looking through the ready-made gowns in stock. Each dress blander and more disappointing than the last and my audible sigh is what I imagine it was that drew her attention.

"They're not city-wares but some of the ladies like 'em around here," she'd said and I had looked up to see the clearest blue-green eyes I'd ever met.

Her hair had been perfectly styled and her face was painted in pleasant, well applied color. At her perfect mouth, her lips were turned upwards in a curiously attractive and somehow wise smile. I felt compelled to apologize for offending her. She clarified that she wasn't in the least bit offended. She told me of her own seamstress in town, one who made the type of dresses she liked  to wear and at half the cost of dresses in New Orleans. She offered to take me with her as she was on her way there already.

I declined.

"Perhaps some other time," I'd said politely, in the tone of voice I'd usually reserved for the dull society women that asked me to come and sit in their pristine parlors to talk poorly of others and to prattle on about what they imagined to be world affairs.

Immediately I had regretted my response. As the beautiful woman with the pinned red hair offered me a nod and a smile, I felt something unusual stirring inside of me. I felt compelled to follow her, to tell her that I had been mistaken and that I would like to accompany her anywhere she wanted to go.

Keeping my wits about me, I did not. I did watch her go though, her finely tailored gown clinging to the curves of her waist and spilling back like a drawn curtain on the dusty floorboards. She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever encountered. I couldn't imagine what a woman like herself was doing out on the prairie.

I'd inquired, of course, about her. It was days after that first encounter, but she had not left my mind. I had to know more about her; who her husband was and if they too had come out this far to stake their claims on the western expansion.

I had been sitting in Del Monaco's when a flash of red had caught my ever-attentive eye just outside of the restaurant's glass windows. The town marshal was with her, touching her elbow as he tilted his head down towards her. She was smiling as she answered him, and patted his arm once before the two parted ways. Marshal Dillon's impressive stature filled the doorway as the law man looked for an empty table and began to amble towards it.

I attracted his attention and asked him to join me which he'd hesitated for a moment before doing. Feigning interest in the town's affairs, I inquired about the types of things that one was expected to ask the Marshal. He answered with the kindness of his reputation and we had talked pleasantly until his breakfast came.

Finally working up the courage to ask, I remarked on the dress I had seen on the woman he had been talking to prior to me and asked if she perhaps was a seamstress herself. I of course knew that she was not, but my question did invoke the type of answer I had been after.

"Kitty? I don't think I've ever seen Kitty sew, to tell you the truth," he'd half-laughed over a piece of bacon as he'd folded it into his mouth.

"Oh! Well she looks very fashionable," I'd offered, hoping he would go into more detail. I was not disappointed.

"That she is Mrs. Whiting. Kitty Russell owns the Long Branch Saloon, " distractedly he'd looked off then and a slow private smile had claimed his face before he'd realized it.

"You'll never meet a kinder woman," he'd said softly, clicking his tongue inside his mouth before washing down his breakfast with a sip of coffee.

As he realized he might have offended me, he added, "I mean exceptin' you,"

I wasn't offended. I was intrigued and it had little to do with the Marshal and everything to do with the Long Branch proprietress.

\---

It had been months later when I had heard about Kitty having once worked at the Long Branch as a saloon girl. It is shocking, the kind of things men will say when they don't know a lady is present. I had been standing in the parlor of the hotel, while two men around the corner were discussing the saloon girls that sold more than alcohol to their customers.

One had mentioned a dark haired girl at the Long Branch as being the 'greatest lay' since 'Miss Kitty'. My cheeks had burned in embarrassment and outrage for the way the man had spoken not only of women, but of the very woman that had to no one's knowledge but my own become the subject of my infatuation.

The words had haunted me. This woman that had managed to drive a perfectly sane person to distraction had once been a soiled dove.

That night I had laid in bed alone thinking about her. I imagined what it had been like for the men who had been allowed the pleasure of keeping her company in her room. I thought of them touching her and of she touching them but the idea of calloused hands against silken, lightly freckled skin made my nose crinkle. I allowed myself to appear in their place, my white skin against hers. My fingers stroking her bared collarbone and her lips imploring mine. My belly had burned at my illicit thoughts and my hands had become hot and clammy as I fumbled beneath my bed clothes to press my warm palm between my thighs.

I thought of Kitty Russell's mouth parted, her cheeks flushed from my hands on her sensitive skin. I imagined the low rumble of her voice as she sighed and spoke my name.

That night I went to sleep with a wet hand, unsatisfied to tears at what I would never have.

\---

Now, here I stand in front of the looking glass in my hotel room, waiting for the cover of darkness so that I may make my way to the Long Branch Saloon.

\---

I do not know what it was that made me do it, perhaps it was my husband's absence from town or the warning that we might soon be returning to New York City. I knew that if I wanted to put months of pining and obsessively wondering what might have been behind me that I had to try. It's all quite a blur, really. I remember writing a letter addressed to 'Miss Kitty Russell' and slipping it under the door of the saloon one morning much before opening. I didn't sign it by name, I did not want to risk any public ridicule regardless of Kitty's answer, but I did instruct the response to be left at the hotel desk addressed to a name other than my own and that I would collect it under these circumstances.

Kitty doesn't know who I am. The letter did not bear my accurate name, nor is she likely to know my name even when presented with it. The truth is we live in very different worlds and our paths have not crossed frequently.

Yet, I think of nothing but her.

I yearned for, but didn't expect a response. Perhaps I was terrified that the response would be that of rejection. Perhaps she would accuse me of being unchristian or otherwise. She couldn't be blamed for such accusations. I had in my letter asked if she would accept a large sum of payment to spend her evening with a lady. I didn't explain to her how unsatisfying my husband was or how I felt each day as though I were living someone else's life, not my own. I didn't tell her how much I wanted her. I merely asked for her time in the suggestive way one would procure a prostitute. Or rather, the way I presumed one would.

True, she was no longer a prostitute and when she was it was likely she only attended to male clients. Surely I had insulted her sensibilities by making the request I had.

Yet a response came earlier this evening when I was coming in from dinner alone, with reading and hot water as my evening's only plans. The hotel manager asked if I knew anyone by the name of Jane Davenport. Of course I did, it was the name I had created. I told him that I did indeed know of the woman in question, that she was a friend of mine not yet arrived on the coach from Topeka.

Trusting or uncaring that he was, he placed the envelope in to my trembling gloved hands. The ruffles of my underskirts and petticoat billowed around my legs as I rushed up the stairs to my room to be alone with the letter. My heart raced as I made my way through the wooden door and it shut with a louder thud than I was accustom to.

I paced back and forth in the room feeling hot and without breath as I clutched the envelope in my hand. I wanted desperately to know what it said and yet I was terrified to have the negative response I was so sure I was to receive.

My head felt light and I was reminded of the women of society who could spend an hour alone speaking of the feelings of faint and whom last took a spell at whose party. I was sure this is what fainting felt like and I quickly sat in one of the hotel chairs to avoid disaster.

I was alone and yet I felt compelled to look around as my fingers slipped beneath the envelope's edge. It felt like I was being watched, that my husband would burst in any moment and tell me he has returned early. If he were, I wouldn't hear his footsteps or the snick of the door as it closed behind him through the loud thump, thump, thump of my heart.

Finally, the letter was in my hands and the row of my upper teeth sunk into the fleshy bottom of my lip as I read the black ink on the page.

_Ordinarily I would decline..._

It began and I could feel the paper crunching beneath my tightening fingers.

_... but I can't help but be curious by your request. Tonight after closing use the back entrance stairs. I will let you in.   -K_

My skin prickled like it were on fire and an unusual sound of astonishment escaped from my lips. She wanted to see me. She understood the circumstances of my letter and wanted to see me. Perhaps it was the large amount of money I had offered that had peaked her interest but I didn't care. I wanted to free myself of the obsession and to have what it is that I had so longed for over these long summer months in Kansas.

\---

And here I am now, staring at the clock across from me on the wooden table. Each tick reminds me that time is passing and that soon I will be in the upper part of the Long Branch Saloon in Kitty's room. My reticule hangs from the slip of ribbon around my wrist. It has five hundred dollars inside and a silver hairbrush. I open the reticule and remove the hairbrush and set it on the arm of the chair. I decide I want to give Kitty the reticule as it is and not bother with having to take out my hairbrush before I do.

Am I really contemplating the placement of a hairbrush? Now, of all times?

I am nervous. My hands are trembling and I intertwine them at my middle to keep them still. The ticking seems impossibly loud in the otherwise quiet hotel room. I look down at the front of my gown and admire its color. I wonder what Kitty will wear. Will she have merely her underthings on beneath a robe? That's what the women in New York do, the type of women that stand outside of sporting houses. But Kitty isn't like them.

Kitty is elegant and feminine; Her eyes are piercing and wise and when she looks at you, it's like a friend would do regardless of whether or not you are acquainted. Her perfume is memorable and uniquely hers and I remember it, having only spent moments in her company.

I look at the clock and realize it is several minutes after I have meant to leave. My stomach flips and tumbles over itself nervously and I study myself in the looking glass. I have been called beautiful by many before but all judgements until now are unimportant. I wonder what _she_ will think of me. My pale yellow hair is neatly curled and smoothed up in an elaborate crystal hairpin. My dark grey eyes shine brightly as though I might be on the verge of tears, yet I am not. I can see my chest heaving beneath the lace collar of my gown and can feel my ribs brushing against my corset with every breath pulled deep into my lungs.

I must go now. I must go and not look back and accept whatever this evening brings. If she has called me there to laugh at me, I shall return having known the results of my actions and wonder not what might have been had I spoken.

I walk calmly down the stairs and am glad to find no one at the hotel counter. My key is in my hand and I slip it into my reticule, reminding myself to remove it before I pay Kitty. _Pay Kitty for her services_. I blush at the notion. Much like my husband has no doubt done countless times, I am seeing a sporting woman for her services. What would he think?

The ladies of society would surely faint each where they stood. In tandem, no less.

I push the thoughts of everyone else far from my mind as I cross the deserted street. It's a slow time in Dodge city as most of the drovers are out at work and won't be in to town until later on in the month. Most businesses, including saloons, close early.

The lamplights are mostly extinguished at the Long Branch, except on the top level where I can see one lit room quite clearly. The light emanates from the small eyelets and decorative cut-outs on the lace curtains and I see it flicker dark for a moment which indicates someone passing before the lamp. I wonder if it's her. I wonder if I am the first woman who has seen her this way.

I pass down the alley, worrying not for my safety as ordinarily I would, as I can think of nothing now but speaking to her. My footsteps on the back wooden stairs are relatively quiet but by the time I reach the back door, I can hear footfalls behind the wooden door. I lift my hand to knock but the door opens and suddenly I am face to face with Kitty Russell.

She looks at me and I can't immediately discern her reaction. I say, "Good evening," awkwardly and she nods her head and quietly says, "Hello,"

For a moment we just stand looking at one another and then Kitty reaches out and places her hand against my elbow. I feel my eyelashes flutter at even that smallest of touches and wonder how I'm ever going to survive this. She guides me into the warmth of the hallway and closes the door behind us. The hallway looks like any other, but it's ornately decorated like parlors are. I can tell immediately that a woman owns this establishment.

We walk together until we arrive before an open door and she shows me into what is obviously her private bedroom.

The room is beautiful and there are lamps lit on either side of the bed. Upon it are cream colored bed linens and the pillows are fluffed and inviting. I hear her behind me closing the door and when I turn to look at her I can see her turning the key in the lock.

She looks at me and I look back. Now that she's here, I don't know what to say. I know my lips open and close and that I look completely uncertain. She doesn't. She looks comfortable, relaxed and interested.

"Your letter was flattering, Mrs. Davenport,"

"Lilias. Please," I ask her, "Call me Lily."

"Alright," Kitty nods and her hand slips from the door as she approaches.

"What did you want to do tonight?" Kitty asks, coming to a stop inches in front of me.

I wring my gloved hands together and look at her. She is dressed in a lavender gown with lace and ribbons and she looks as impeccable as always. I hadn't anticipated this question and I don't know how exactly to answer it without being lewd. Surely she knows why I have come.

"I... would like, as my letter stated," I say quietly, my eyes searching hers.

She stares back at me, her red hair looking irresistibly soft. She steps closer.

"And what did your letter state?" she turns my words back on me, her voice silkenly low.

I feel my cheeks flushing hotly. Perhaps it has been a bad idea after all. Of course it is a bad idea. I am standing in a saloon woman's bedroom, imploring her to make love to me and unable to acknowledge it or speak of it by name.

"Your... your services. Li... like gentlemen would request," I say, though perhaps it sounds spiteful due to my embarrassment.

Her brow raises and she says, "You'd like a drink then?"

I know I am hot and red and unpleasant to look at now and I blurt, "I want you!" my hands clenching at my sides like some disobedient school girl.

Kitty's expression changes and her smile expands, emanating radiance. She places her hands on my hips, pressing over top of my corset and seals her lips to mine. Our kiss is longer than I have ever had, and it makes me hungry for more. When our lips part, I take the sides of her face in my palms and draw her mouth back to mine. Her hands slide around my middle and I can feel her chest press against mine.

Her mouth is warm, sensual and experienced and she tastes of fine whiskey. I'm surprised by this. I don't like the taste of whiskey but on her I could drink of it for hours.

She steals her lips from mine and I want to beg to have them again, but she presses them against my neck and further down along my collar. I can smell the perfume in her hair and my hands reach up to touch it.

"Have you ever done this before?" I ask her but she doesn't answer me. She guides me near to the bed and turns her back to me, asking for my help undoing her buttons. It's all happening so quickly that my fingers tremble and the thread of one button snaps. It falls to the floor and I immediately go to look for it but she halts me with a warm hand on my neck.

She asks me to sit on the bed and I do so, staring up at her as she slowly removes her dress. It slides down her length and gathers at her feet, pooling with her petticoat and revealing her cream colored under-bust corset with deep blue laces.  She is wearing a lace undershirt and matching cream colored bloomers and I watch as she slides the bloomers over the curve of her hip, over the small swell of her backside and down her exquisitely pale legs.

Her back is turned to me, but all I can see is the beautiful flesh of her bared rear and the back lacing of her corset as she removes the undershirt, pulling the lace hem from under the corset's edge. She drops it to the floor with the other discarded clothing and reaches up to unpin her hair. After several pins are removed, her mane of silken red curls tumble down over her creamy shoulders. She turns just her head towards me and smiles before slowly turning around to face me.

Above and below her corset she is completely nude. A red thatch of curls marks her sex and it occurs to me that I've never seen an adult woman naked before. I am enthralled and I long to touch her so badly that my thighs tremble. Her breasts are full and her rosy nipples are pert and luxurious and I feel a sudden instinct to rise from the bed and go to her.

My hands touch her breasts and I look into her eyes to be sure that it is alright. She is looking back at me with a deep intensity that makes my head reel. I touch her nipple with the pads of my finger and can feel myself grow damp with anticipation. I can't believe that my dreams have come to fruition and that my hand, my very own hand is now sliding up her bare thigh and tangling in the red hair at the apex of her legs.

She sighs softly and our lips meet again. This time I am less trepidacious. I slide my tongue along her bottom lip and suck it between my own. It's as silky and as soft as the rest of her and I am enticed to let my tongue linger when her's joins mine.

Her hand presses me through the fabric of my dress and I can feel the whole of her palm flattening against my femininity. I ache to feel her skin on mine so I reach beneath my dress and pull my bloomers down my legs.

She pushes me backwards until I am near to sitting on the bed and we tumble together so that she is on top of me, straddling my thighs. Her hands pluck at my skirts until the barrier is broken and her warm embrace is upon my pulsating sex.

"Oh Good Heavens," I groan and her throaty laugh fills the lamp lit room. Her fingers begin to rock against me, and I tense at the soaring sensations of it. I have never felt anything like this. My hips begin to rock of their own accord. Kitty looks down upon me, her red hair framing her radiant face and spilling across her bared shoulders and down across the swell of her breasts.

I watch her gently pass the fingers of her other hand between her own legs and see her head roll backwards, her lips parting. My hand reaches out and covers hers, taking its place as I try in some way to mimic the motions and pleasure that her fingers are bringing me.

Her hand stills just as my breath is catching and my body is shaking with desire. I want to demand her to continue but I am lost in the darkness of her eyes as they look down upon me. She lifts my dress so that she may look at me and my skin feels aflame. I've never been looked at so openly. I look for approval on her face, hoping that I am something she can fall in love with for only the moment we have together.

Her tongue wets her bottom lip and she pushes my thighs further apart. Suddenly I feel her fingers sliding in to me. The sensation drives my hips off of the bed and towards her. Her smile fades and desire takes hold as she curls her fingers deep inside of me. I feel tight and hot and I ache as though these fingers should hurt, though the pain is pleasant.

I slip my hand against the wetness between her legs and follow her actions. I can't withhold a moan when I feel the heated slick insides of Kitty's sex. My fingers graze upwards, stroking the way she did me until her thighs part and she sinks further on to my hand, helping my fingers inside of her.

I am lost in the feeling of her fingers inside of me and mine inside of her and I imagine nothing could be more erotic than this silhouette of two women locked in a sensual embrace. Then she moves upon my hand, rolling her hips against me and I can feel my fingers caressing her furthest reaches. She moans audibly and moves her imploring fingers in a steadying rhythm that builds momentum as she rides me.

I feel every muscle within me grow tighter and tenser until my hips have angled completely in to her and her fingers are thrusting rigidly inside of me. I watch air rush past her lips in gasps and groans and delight in the way our voices sound coupled in this unbridled fit of hysteria.

Suddenly I feel as though a wall has been breached and I cry out, a sound I've never before heard myself make. I pitch upwards grabbing her tightly around the waist and bury my head into her chest. My body convulses inside, the sensation unfamiliar but blindingly passionate and fulfilling. She rocks against me moments longer until she strangles a cry of her own and muffles the sound in a hot kiss beneath my ear.

Our breathing is ragged and uneven and we hold one another tightly for a long while. I am unsure of what I am to do next.

When she moves off of me and lays back on the bed beside me with her wrist across her eyes, I fear that I am meant to go. I don't want to leave, but she is not saying anything and I am certain that it is over. So quickly, so passionately my time with Kitty Russell is over.

I stand and let down my skirts, pulling my bloomers back up my legs, and steal another glance at her. She has uncovered her eyes at the feeling of my rising from the bed and is looking at me through heavy-lidded eyes.

I realize the reticule is still around my wrist and I shakily place it on the bed beside her.

"Thank you... Miss Russell, " I say in a wavering tone with a voice that I am unsure will stay with me, "I have enjoyed my time with you very much."

I sound a fool.

She looks down at the reticule and her brows knit together. Smiling sadly at the beautiful woman with the titian hair that gently kisses her flushed skin, I turn and on unsteady footing make my way to her door.

"Lily," she murmurs. It's the first time she calls me by name.

I turn and smile at her, half-heartedly to show my appreciation but it is not genuine. I want to stay.

_Can I stay? Can I stay with you forever?_

I want to ask her these questions. I want to occupy her bed and her heart and I want no other to come after. But I cannot speak and I move quickly and quietly until I am down the hallway and out in the street.

\---

I am glad there is no one around, as I run like someone alerting the law enforcement to some large incident. I don't know what to do now. Everything suddenly feels wrong.

When I reach the top floor of my hotel room, my breath is barely existent and I lean forward against the door after discovering it won't open. I don't remember where I've left the key. I can't go back there now. It would ruin everything we had. I stay leaning against the wooden door as my breath is slowly reclaimed.

Then there is a noise. Footfalls of heeled boots on the wooden stairs, nearing me. I pat down my hair and brush my cheeks in an attempt to look decent.

A figure rounds the corner and stops before me. It is Kitty. She is loosely wearing the dress from earlier and a cloak around her shoulders to cover the undone buttons at the back. Her eyes are concerned as she extends her hand and offers me my reticule.

I remember my key and take it from her, thanking her for her troubles as if all she's done is found it in the street and returned it to me.  As I fish out the key, I notice that the money is still exactly as it was and my hand stills. I don't know what to say.

Kitty speaks for me, her voice suddenly close to my ear, "Can I come in?"

I feel my chest tighten and I nod my head wordlessly. I turn the key in the lock and open the door allowing her to enter first.

Inside, Kitty takes the key from my fingers and slowly locks the door behind us. Then she steps forward and we meet halfway, our lips finding one another's just as easily as before.

I realize in this moment that my time with Kitty Russell is most certainly not over and her warming hand on the side of my neck augment's my belief.

\---

_End_

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Gloriously and hope you like it! Comments are appreciated though please don't critique the pairing. This was written specifically as femslash.


End file.
